


Sentinel

by kricketiscool



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Animagus, Crossover, Demigods at Hogwarts, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 03:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kricketiscool/pseuds/kricketiscool
Summary: Something strange is going on at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's hand is black and dead, Snape is teaching DADA, Neville Longbottom somehow grew a spine, Draco Malfoy is less cruel than ever before and Trewlany is walking through the halls muttering about blessings and prophecies. Harry Potter has no clue what to make of the situation.A rewrite of fifth year with an extra twist.





	Sentinel

**Author's Note:**

> If I actually had any claim to anything, I wouldn't be writing on this site. So, no. I do not own Harry Potter or Percy Jackson. This is entirely self-indulgent that I wrote years ago and found while cleaning out my google drive. I thought it was humorous and decided to post. If you want to continue this idea, be my guest. I have a basic plot outline that I can send you.

Harry had an idea. He knew Malfoy was up to something, now he had the chance to discover what. He turned to Neville and Ginny.  
"I'll see you two later," said Harry under his breath, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak and flinging it over himself.  
"You really shouldn't-” said Neville, nervously reaching into his pocket  
"Later!" whispered Harry, darting after Zabini as quietly as possible, though the rattling of the train made such caution almost pointless.  
The corridors were almost completely empty now. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions. Though he was as close as he could get to Zabini without touching him, Harry was not quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door. Zabini was already sliding it shut when Harry hastily stuck out his foot to prevent it from closing.  
"What's wrong with this thing?" said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry's foot.  
Harry seized the door and pushed it open, hard; Zabini, still clinging on to the handle, toppled over sideways into Gregory Goyle's lap, and in the ensuing ruckus, Harry darted into the compartment, leaped onto Zabini's temporarily empty seat, and hoisted himself up into the luggage rack. It was fortunate that Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other, drawing all eyes onto them, for Harry was quite sure his feet and ankles had been revealed as the cloak had flapped around them; indeed, for one horrible moment he thought he saw Malfoy's eyes follow his trainer as it whipped upward out of sight. But then Goyle slammed the door shut and flung Zabini off him; Zabini collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled, Vincent Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy, sniggering, lay back down across two seats with his head in Pansy Parkinsons lap. Harry lay curled uncomfortably under the cloak to ensure that every inch of him remained hidden, and watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy's forehead, smirking as she did so, as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place. Strangely, Malfoy looked slightly irritated at being in that position, Harry didn’t think much of it since Malfoy always looked irritated. The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over the scene: Harry could read every word of Crabbe's comic directly below him.  
"So, Zabini," said Malfoy, "what did Slughorn want?"  
"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many."  
This information did not seem to please Malfoy. "Who else had he invited?" he demanded.  
"McLaggen from Gryffindor," said Zabini.  
"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," said Malfoy.  
"someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw”  
"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy.  
"and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini.  
Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy's hand aside.  
"He invited Longbottom?." Harry blinked at the hint of worry in his voice. None of the Slytherins seemed to notice and in a moment Malfoy was back to being an arrogant prat.  
"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.  
"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" Malfoy inquired.  
Zabini shrugged.  
"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or ?”  
"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," said Zabini. "He asked me about Notts father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? 1 don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."  
Malfoy looked angry but also slightly amused, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh.  
"Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." Malfoy yawned ostentatiously. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"  
"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Pansy indignantly, ceasing grooming Malfoy at once.  
"Well, you never know," said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have er moved on to bigger and better things."  
Crouched in the luggage rack under his cloak, Harry's heart began to race. What would Ron and Hermione say about this? Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had had no inkling of any plans to move on to bigger and better things. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. Pansy resumed the slow stroking of Malfoy’s hair, looking dumbfounded.  
"Do you mean —“  
Malfoy shrugged.  
"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it. ... When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many OWLs or N.E.W.T.S anyone's got? Of course, he isn't? It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."  
"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" asked Zabini scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"  
"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," said Malfoy quietly.  
Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.  
“Does this have something to do with the ‘business’ that you are always running off to do?” asked Zabini. Harry held his breath, this could be it.  
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Malfoy said, closing his eyes and leaning back.  
“Do you really think Draco has been working for the Dark Lord for five years? He has only just returned, there is obviously something else.” Pansy remarked, her eyes sliding over to Draco in curiosity.  
“Like I said, perhaps not.” Malfoy grinned, a sinister, yet mischievous grin as he observed their reactions. Pansy rolled her eyes.  
“You always have been one for the dramatics, haven’t you?” She said sarcastically.  
"I can see Hogwarts," said Malfoy, clearly relishing the effect he had created as he pointed out of the blackened window. "We'd better get our robes on."  
Harry was so busy staring at Malfoy, he did not notice Goyle reaching up for his trunk; as he swung it down, it hit Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning.  
Harry was not afraid of Malfoy, but he still did not much like the idea of being discovered hiding under his Invisibility Cloak by a group of unfriendly Slytherins. Eyes still watering and head still throbbing, he drew his wand, careful not to disarrange the cloak, and waited, breath held. Malfoy glared, seeming to stare right into Harry’s eyes. He couldn’t possibly see him, could he? Harry was relieved when Malfoy turned around and changed into his robes, he could've sworn he saw a golden charm around his neck as the Slytherin fastened his cloak. It looked familiar and Harry dimly wondered where he had seen it before.  
Harry could see the corridors filling up again and hoped that Hermione and Ron would take his things out onto the platform for him; he was stuck where he was until the compartment had quite emptied. At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, punching them aside; Crabbe and Zabini followed.  
"You go on," Malfoy told Pansy, who was waiting for him with her hand held out as though hoping he would hold it. "I just want to check something."  
Pansy left. Now Harry and Malfoy were alone in the compartment. People were filing past, descending onto the dark platform. Malfoy moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds, so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in. He then bent down over his trunk and opened it again.  
Harry peered down over the edge of the luggage rack, his heart pumping a little faster. What had Malfoy wanted to hide from Pansy? Was he about to see the mysterious broken object it was so important to mend?  
"Petrificus Totalus!"  
Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, who was instantly paralyzed. As though in slow motion, he toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Malfoy's feet, the Invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him, his whole body revealed with his legs still curled absurdly into the cramped kneeling position. He couldn't move a muscle; he could only gaze up at Malfoy, who was regarding him with a queer expression.  
“Good move, spying on a Slytherin, too bad you forgot you had a shadow and that you breathe absurdly loud,” he smirked.  
“You should be on guard Potter. Dark things are lurking about and if they find you…” Malfoy leaned in, “You’re dead.” He turned and placed his hand on the doorknob. “Remember what I said Potter and never go anywhere alone without telling someone trustworthy where you went. You are, after all, the only one able to possibly kill Lord Voldemort.” The name sent a shiver down Harry’s spine as the silver-haired boy left. Malfoy was acting extremely out of character, he should be hexing him or beating him up while he was helpless. The warning was also odd and carried a threat along with it. Was Voldemort trying to kill him? Were there spies in school? If so, why was Malfoy telling him, if he knew that Voldemort was trying to kill him.  
Harry could not move a muscle. He lay there beneath the _ Invisibility Cloak feeling the blood from his nose flow, hot and wet, over his face, listening to the voices and footsteps in the corridor beyond. His immediate thought was that someone, would surely, would check the compartments before the train departed again. With the blinds closed, anyone who was walking past wouldn’t be able to see him. His best hope was that somebody else would walk in and see him  
Harry had never hated Malfoy more than as he lay there, like an absurd turtle on its back, and the ominous warnings rebounding in his mind. What a stupid situation to have landed himself in... and now the last few footsteps were dying away; everyone was shuffling along the dark platform outside; he could hear the scraping of trunks and loud babble of talk.  
Ron and Hermione would think that he had left the train without them. Once they arrived at Hogwarts and took their places in the Great Hall, looked up and down the Gryffindor table a few times, and finally realized that he was not there, he, no doubt, would be halfway back to London.  
He tried to make a sound, even a grunt, but it was impossible. Then he remembered that some wizards, like Dumbledore, could perform spells without speaking, so he tried to summon his wand, which had fallen out of his hand, by saying the words "Accio Wand!" over and over again in his head, but nothing happened.  
He thought he could hear the rustling of the trees that surrounded the lake, and the far-off hoot of an owl, but no hint of a search being made or even (he despised himself slightly for hoping it) panicked voices wondering where Harry Potter had gone. A feeling of hopelessness spread through him as he imagined the convoy of thestral-drawn carriages trundling up to the school and the muffled yells of laughter issuing from whichever carriage Malfoy was riding in, where he could be recounting his discovery of Harry to Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson.  
Suddenly the door opened and Neville rushed in.  
“Oh Harry, thank Merlin the train hadn’t left yet! Here let me help you, finite incantatem.”  
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his limbs loosened.  
“Thanks Nev-” The train lurched forward suddenly.  
“Come on, we have to jump before it gets going too fast!” exclaimed Neville, grabbing Harry’s hand and dragging him out the corridor. He pulled open the train door and leapt onto the platform, which seemed to be sliding underneath them as the train gathered momentum. He followed Neville, staggered a little on landing, then straightened up in time to see the gleaming scarlet steam engine pick up speed, round the corner, and disappear from view.  
They set off toward the lane that led to the school.  
“How did you know I was still on board.”  
Neville looked uncomfortable with the question.  
“Someone might have mentioned that you never got off the train, so...so I assumed you were still on.”  
“But then how did you know which compartment I was in?”  
“Well… well um, look we should probably hurry, we are already late to the feast.” Neville started walking faster and Harry had to rush to keep up.  
They trudged up the dark, deserted lane, following the freshly made carriage tracks. Harry looked sideways at Neville. He had figured in any one would notice his absence it would be Ron or Hermione, not Neville. He had always liked Neville, the quiet, clumsy boy with no confidence, now he seemed more sure of himself. He had jumped off a moving train without blinking., that was not a Neville thing to do. There was also the way he had avoided Harry’s question about how he knew which compartment he would be in. Neville made no attempt to continue any conversation so they trudged on with Neville casting wary glances into the shadows.  
Having always traveled there by carriage, Harry had never before appreciated just how far Hogwarts was from Hogsmeade Station. With great relief he finally saw the tall pillars on either side of the gates, each topped with a winged boar. He was cold, he was hungry and he was quite keen to leave this strange version of Neville behind and sit with his real friends in the Great Hall. But when he put out a hand to push open the gates, he found them chained shut.  
“Alohomora!" he said confidently, pointing his wand at the padlock, but nothing happened.  
“That won't work on these," said Neville. "Dumbledore bewitched them himself."  
Harry looked around, “We could climb a wall," he suggested.  
“No, you couldn't," said Neville flatly. "Anti-intruder jinxes on all of them. Security has been tightened a hundredfold this summer."  
“Well then,” said Harry, starting to feel annoyed at his lack of helpfulness, “I suppose I'll just have to sleep out here and wait for morning.”  
“I made sure someone knew where I went. They should be coming down soon," said Neville, "Look."  
A lantern was bobbing at the distant foot of the castle. Harry was so pleased to see it he felt he could even endure Filch's wheezy criticisms of his tardiness and rants about how his timekeeping would improve with the regular application of thumbscrews. It was not until the glowing yellow light was ten feet away from them, that he recognized, with a rush of confusion, the twin heads of Fred and George. Instead of the usual grinning tricksters, they were solemn and were eying the shadows as if expecting something to jump out of them. ‘Neville did that too’ Harry noted.  
"Hurry, we don’t want to get caught.” whispered Fred taking out his wand and tapping the padlock once, so that the chains snaked backward and the gates creaked open. "Nice of you two to turn up. Now get inside quick.”  
"I couldn't change, I didn't have my —" Harry began, but George cut across him.  
"Doesn’t matter. Keep quiet.”  
The journey to the castle was tense. Harry noted that all three of his companions were gripping a coin in their hands tightly. Harry frowned and tightened his grip on his wand for good measure. ‘Why were his fellow Gryffindors acting so strange?’  
They reached the castle steps at last and as the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall. Harry wondered whether he could slip his Invisibility Cloak back on, thereby gaining his seat at the Gryffindor table (which, inconveniently, was the farthest from the entrance hall) without being noticed. As though they had read Harry’s mind Fred and George spoke up. “Come on Harry, you don’t really think that we’d let you get away without a dramatic entrance do you?” They were back to their mischievous selves. The twins grabbed Harry’s elbows and, ignoring his protests, propelled him through the doors, whistling.  
The Great Hall with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. It was ail a shimmering blur to Harry, however, who was being paraded around by the Weasley twins as they were whistling a march. The students in the hall looked confused for a moment before shrugging it off as the twins antics. Harry found he was relieved that he didn’t have to go in by himself because if he did then they would all be staring at him.  
"Where've you been?” questioned Ron. “You never showed back up on the train. Please don’t tell me you got in on one of their pranks.”  
“Why our dearest Ronniekins you wound us. We would never do such a thing.” said George, grasping at his heart dramatically.  
“Why do I not believe you?” grumbled Ron.  
“We saved our pal Harry from a horribly painful death.” said Fred, seriously.  
“Oh yes.” chimed in George. “We saved Harry from an untimely death indeed.”  
“Oh bugger off!” exclaimed Ron. His brothers chuckled and went to sit by Lee Jordan on the other end of the table.  
“What really happened Harry?” asked Hermione.  
“I'll tell you later," said Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny, Dean, and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop. He also didn’t want to talk about his suspicions while Neville was nearby.  
“But —" said Hermione.  
“Not now, Hermione," said Harry, in a darkly significant voice. He hoped very much that they would all assume he had been involved in something heroic, preferably involving a couple of Death Eaters and a dementor. Of course, Malfoy would spread the story as wide as he could, but there was always a chance it wouldn't reach too many Gryffindor ears.  
He reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of chips, but before he could take them they vanished, to be replaced with puddings.  
“You missed the Sorting, anyway," said Hermione, as Ron dived into a large, chocolate gateau.  
“Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.  
“More of the same, really . . . advising us all to unite in the face enemies, you know."  
“Dumbledore mention Voldemort at all?"  
“Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast doesn't he? It can't be long now."  
“Harry, Hagrid’s waving at you.” said Hermione.  
Harry looked up at the staff table and grinned at Hagrid, who was indeed waving at him. Hagrid had never quite managed to comport himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, the top of whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid's elbow and shoulder as they were sitting side by side, and who was looking disapprovingly at this enthusiastic greeting. Harry was surprised to see the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, sitting on Hagrid's other side; she rarely left her tower room, and he had never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. She looked as odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size by her spectacles. Having always considered her a bit of a fraud, Harry had been shocked to discover at the end of the previous term that it had been she who had made the prediction that caused Lord Voldemort to kill Harry's parents and attack Harry himself. The knowledge made him even less eager to find himself in her company, thankfully, this year he would be dropping Divination. Her great beacon like eyes swiveled in his direction; he hastily looked away toward the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was whispering to Jeffrey while Blaise was telling an elaborate story about a spy getting caught to raucous laughter and applause. Harry dropped his gaze to his treacle tart, his insides burning again. Slytherins were all the same. Malfoy had told Blaise the story while he whispered lies into Dean’s little brother’s ear. What he would give to fight Malfoy one-on-one...  
"So what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asked.  
"To know what really happened at the Ministry." said Harry.  
"Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione. "People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron?"  
"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are 'The Chosen One' —"  
"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head toward Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.'"  
“That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed.  
“Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rose into the air glided back toward the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.  
"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.  
“What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione.  
She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Harry from the Dursleys. Whispers it the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.  
“Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now ... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you . .."  
"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer,"  
Harry whispered to Hermione. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though ... or Madam Pomfrey would've done."  
"It looks as if it's dead," said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. "But there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses…and there are poisons without antidotes. . . ."  
". . . and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.  
"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.  
"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn"— Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table into shadow — "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."  
"Potions?"  
"Potions?"  
The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered wheel they had heard right.  
"Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare Harry. "But you said —"  
"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."  
"No!" said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. He did not care; he was staring up at the staff table, incensed. How could Snape be given the Defense Against the Dark Arts job after all this time? Hadn't it been widely known for years that Dumbledore did not trust him to do it?  
“But Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione.  
"I thought he was!" said Harry, racking his brains to remember when Dumbledore had told him this, but now that he came to think of it, he was unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling him what Slughorn would be teaching.  
Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up his mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Harry was sure he could detect a look of triumph on the features he loathed so much.  
“Well, there's one good thing," he said savagely. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."  
“What do you mean?" asked Ron.  
“That job's jinxed. No ones lasted more than a year. . . . Quirrell actually died doing it. . . . Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death. . . ."  
“Harry!" said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.  
“He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year" said Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't."  
“Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart’s desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.  
"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."  
The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the headmaster's words unworthy of his attention. His eyes met with Harry’s for a brief instance and he gave a feral grin.  
"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."  
Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.  
"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"  
With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Harry, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawking crowd, nor to get near enough to Malfoy to allow him to retell the story of the nose-stamping, lagged behind, pretending to retie the lace on his trainer, allowing most of Gryffindors to draw ahead of him. Hermione had darted ahead to fulfill her prefect's duty of shepherding the first years, but Ron remained with Harry.  
“What really happened to your nose?" he asked, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else.  
Harry told him. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron did not laugh.  
“I saw Malfoy whispering something amusing to his Slytherin friends" he said darkly.  
“Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harry bitterly. "Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there . . . ."  
Harry had expected Ron to be stunned by Malfoys boasts. With what Harry considered pure pigheadedness, however, Ron was unimpressed.  
“Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson….  
What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?"  
“How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts? It wouldn't be the first —"  
“I wish yeh'd stop sayin' tha name, Harry," said a reproachful voice behind them. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Hagrid shaking his head. Neville was walking alongside the half-giant and looked equally irritated at the name.  
"Dumbledore uses that name," said Harry stubbornly  
“Yeah, well, tha's Dumbledore, innit?" said Hagrid mysteriously.  
“Harry, you should know that using that name in asking for trouble.” Neville added.  
“Come off it Neville. It's just a name, it's nothing to be afraid of.” Harry rolled his eyes.  
Neville glared and uncharacteristically refused to back down.  
“It is not just a name. Names have power. You need to be more careful of what you say. It might not have mattered before but with what's been happening, you must stop.” He insisted.  
“Why should I? Everyone knows he’s back. Not saying Voldemort won't change that.”  
Neville and Hagrid flinched, even Ron started.  
“You would at least have enough respect for your fellow wizards to not insult them by saying that repeatedly. Just because you grew up muggle doesn’t excuse you from not learning our customs!” Neville shouted and stomped away, leaving a shocked crowned behind. .  
“He’s right though Harry,” Ron said  
“You kinda do insult all of us by continually saying that name.”  
Harry frowned, upset that Ron had taken Nevilles side.  
“It doesn't matter. Did you need something Hagrid” Hagrid frowned at the tone but allowed the subject change.  
“So how come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried."  
"Got held up on the train," said Harry. "Why were you late?"  
"I was with Grawp," said Hagrid happily. "Los' track o' the time. He's got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He's much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin' a good chat."  
"Really?" said Harry, taking care not to catch Ron's eye; the last time he had met Hagrid's half-brother, a vicious giant with a talent for ripping up trees by the roots, his vocabulary had comprised five words, two of which he was unable to pronounce properly.  
"Oh yeah, he's really come on," said Hagrid proudly. "Yeh'll be amazed. I'm thinkin' o' trainin' him up as me assistant."  
Ron snorted loudly, but managed to pass it off as a violent sneeze. They were now standing beside the oak front doors.  
"Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck — I mean, Witherwings!”  
Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he headed out of the doors into the darkness.  
Harry and Ron looked at each other. Harry could tell that Ron was experiencing the same sinking feeling as himself.  
"You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?"  
Ron shook his head. "And you're not either, are you?"  
Harry shook his head too.  
"And Hermione," said Ron, "she's not, is she?"  
Harry shook his head again. Exactly what Hagrid would say when he realized his three favorite students had given up his subject, he did not like to think.  
Chapter 2  
Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast next morning. Hoping for some support in his theory, Harry lost no time in telling Hermione what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.  
"But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" interjected Ron quickly, before Hermione could say anything.  
"Well," she said uncertaintly, "I don't know. ... It would be like Malfoy make himself seem more important than he is ... but that's a big lie to tell. . . ."  
"Exactly," said Harry, but he could not press the point, because so many people were trying to listen in to his conversation, not to mention staring at him and whispering behind their hands.  
"It's rude to point," Ron snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggered. "I love being a sixth year. And we're going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax."  
"We're going to need that time for studying, Ron!" said Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.  
"Yeah, but not today," said Ron. "Today's going to be a real doss, I reckon."  
"Hold it!" said Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. "Fanged Frisbees banned, hand it over," she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. Ron waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione's grip.  
"Excellent, I've always wanted one of these."  
Hermione's remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron's remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looked rather pleased with himself.  
The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry and Ron told Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.  
"But he can't really think we'd continue Care of Magical Creatures !" she said, looking distressed. "I mean, when has any of us expressed . . . you know . . . any enthusiasm?"  
"That's it, though, innit?" said Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. "We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the stupid subject. D'ya reckon anyone's going to go on to N.E.W.T.?"  
Neither Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. They avoided Hagrid's eye and returned his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.  
“You should not lead him on like that, he really is only trying to help you, you know.” Harry turned to Neville who had spoken. It seemed as if Neville was still angry with Harry from earlier.  
“What are you talking about Neville?” exclaimed Hermione.  
“You know what I mean Hermione. Hagrid is really excited to have you in his class but you are all too scared to tell him that you won’t even be there. He trusts all of you and you seem to think it fine to lie straight to his face. Imagine how he will feel when he finds out.” Neville said, irritated at the apparent ignorance being shown.  
“Oh come off it Neville, you know that Hagrid is a horrible teacher and that no one likes his class,” Ron said around a mouthful of food  
“So you are saying that all those times when you defended Hagrid when Malfoy said those exact things you were lying? You really are so stuck up that all you think about is yourself.” Neville’s fists were trembling in anger.  
“Like you have a right to talk. You probably dropped his class just like we did.” Harry retorted  
“Actually I didn’t. But if I did I would have told him instead of betraying his trust like that.” Neville slammed his fists on the table and moved to sit further up the table by Fred and George who gave him concerned looks. Everyone else had stopped to stare at the argument which had progressed to a shouting match. The rest of the meal was passed in uncomfortable silence. The Golden Trio could hear the whispers from the other tables, undoubtedly talking about the argument.  
After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.  
Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L results.  
"Herbology, fine," she said. "Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an 'Outstanding' O.W.L. And you qualify for Defense Against the Dark Arts with 'Exceeds Expectations.' You didn’t want to do Transfiguration?”  
“I decided to take Charms instead. I am better at that class anyways.

"Take Charms," said Professor McGonagall, "and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless." Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville's face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.  
“One more thing Mister Longbottom.”  
“Yes Professor?”  
“Good work this summer. That goes for the rest of your group as well.” She said mysteriously, her eyes twinkling. Neville looked gobsmacked before muttering his thanks and rushing out of the dining hall.  
Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.  
"He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year," said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination. "The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney."  
Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.  
"So, Potter, Potter . . ." said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry. "Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration ... all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven't you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?"  
"It was, but you told me I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., Professor."  
"And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with 'Exceeds Expectations' at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?"  
"Yes," said Harry, "but I didn't buy the books or any ingredients or anything-"  
"I'm sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some," said Professor McGonagall. "Very well, Potter, here is your schedule. Oh, by the way- twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure."  
A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together.  
"Look," said Ron delightedly, gazing at his schedule, "we've got a free period now. . . and a free period after break . . . and after lunch . . . excellent."  
They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, one of the only remaining members of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year. Hermione was sitting at a table in a corner, scribbling out on a piece of parchment.  
Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close. Harry rolled his eyes and went to sit by Hermione, Ron followed him.  
“I wonder what classes Malfoy’s taking?” Hermione said.  
“What!” exploded Ron, “Why would you care?” Hermione looked offended.  
“He isn’t exactly stupid you know. Malfoy is head of our year.” She stated, as if it was an obvious fact.  
“But all the teachers say your top of our year.” Ron said.  
“No, they said I’m top witch. Malfoy is top wizard. From what I know, He is ahead a year in Transfiguration and Potions, he really is better than anyone else, even though Snape is bias.”  
“I can’t believe that Malfoy is smarter than you!”  
Hermione huffed and refused to comment further despite Ron’s attempts to conjole her into a further discussion.  
An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.  
“What did McGonagall mean when she was talking to Neville?” she asked.  
“Does it really matter?” complained Ron.  
“Well,”said Hermione, exasperatedly, “Neville was acting odd when he got Harry off that train remember?” she continued after Ron’s nod. “And he was being quite argumentative last night. Don’t you think it is strange that she complimented him on something he did during the summer. I certainly think we should be keeping an eye on him.”  
"We got so much homework for Runes," she said anxiously when Harry and Ron joined her. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read these by Wednesday!"  
"Shame," yawned Ron.  
"You wait," she said resentfully. "I bet Snape gives us loads."  
The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.  
"Inside," he said.  
Harry looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.  
"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."  
His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's than anyone else's.  
"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."  
You believe . . . like you haven't watched them all come and go, hoping you'd be next, thought Harry scathingly.  
Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced."  
Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."  
Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?  
"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures - he indicated a few of them as he swept past - "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - a bloody mass upon ground.  
"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" said Parvati Patil in a high pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"  
"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," said Snape, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now. . . "  
He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. ,  
". . . you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"  
Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, "Very well - Miss Granger?"  
"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," said Hermione, "which gives you a split-second advantage."  
"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered), "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some" -  
his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry once more - "lack."  
Harry knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. He refused to drop his gaze, but glowered at Snape until Snape looked away.  
"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."  
Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Malfoy was actually able to cast a nonverbal shield within five minutes earning twenty points for Slytherin. He sent a smug smile Harry’s way when ten minutes later, Hermione managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Harry bitterly, but which Snape ignored.  
Not five minutes later, Neville threw up a flawless Protego without so much as a whisper. The entire class stopped for a moment and gaped. Snape’s black eyes glittered maliciously.  
“Five points to Gryffindor.”  
Harry gasped. Did he just? Snape had never before given points to Gryffindor. It was unprecedented.  
“Back to work!” Snape shouted, causing everyone to jump and scramble to resume their practice.  
Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as Malfoy made a cutting motion in Neville’s direction. The gryffindor nodded and turned to face Hermione as if nothing had happened. Snape continued his prowl across the room, offering more scathing and cutting remarks to the remainder of the Gryiffindors.  
He swept between them as they practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task.  
Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.  
"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here -- let me show you -"  
He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"  
His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.  
"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"  
"Yes," said Harry stiffly.  
"Yes, sir."  
"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor." The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however , Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.  
"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter . . . not even 'the Chosen One.'"  
"That was brilliant, Harry!" chortled Ron, once they were safely on their way to break a short while later.  
"You really shouldn't have said it," said Hermione, frowning at Ron. "What made you?"  
"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice!" fumed Harry. “I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change? What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defense? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff --  
"Well," said Hermione, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."  
"Like me?"  
"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn't just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn't that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"  
Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words as well worth memorizing as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue.  
“What was with Snape today?” Ron wondered.  
“He gave points to Gryffindor, to Neville!” Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation.  
“Something odd is happening and I will figure out what.” Before Hermione could continue, a shout interrupted her.  
"Harry! Hey, Harry!"  
Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Chasers on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward him holding a roll of parchment.  
"For you," panted Sloper. "Listen, 1 heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?"  
"I'm not sure yet," said Harry, thinking privately that Sloper would be very lucky to get back on the team. "I'll let you know."  
"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend -"  
But Harry was not listening; he had just recognized the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, he hurried away with Ron and Hermione, unrolling the parchment as he went.  
Dear Harry,  
I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.  
Yours sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore  
P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.  
"He enjoys Acid Pops?" said Ron, who had read the message over Harry's shoulder and was looking perplexed.  
"It's the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study," said Harry in a low voice. "Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased. . . . I won't be able to do his detention!"  
He, Ron, and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced Defensive magic. After the break, she went off to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron returned to the common room where they grudgingly started Snape's homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process). They had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.  
When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.  
"Harry," Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defense Against The Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags . . . And how are you, Ron -- Hermione?"  
Before they could say more than "fine," the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.  
The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow. He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.  
"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making. . . ."  
"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.  
"Harry, m'boy?"  
"I haven't got a book or scales or anything - nor's Ron - we didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see -"  
"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention . . . not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts..."  
Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.  
"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"  
He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.  
Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her.  
"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," said Hermione.  
"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known. . . . Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too . . . Who can - ?"  
Hermione's hand was fastest once more.  
"lt's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said.  
Harry too had recognized the slow-bubbling, mud like substance the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question; she, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year. "Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here . . . yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again.  
"It's Amortentia!"  
"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"  
It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.  
'Quire right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"  
"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and -"  
But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.  
'May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.  
Hermione Granger, sir."  
"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"  
"No. I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."  
Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.  
"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"  
"Yes, sir," said Harry.  
"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.  
Malfoy looked rather annoyed at that. Harry glared at him, thinking that he was just being stubborn in his muggle born prejudice and didn’t like being reminded of Hermione’s intelligence.. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"  
"Well, what's so impressive about that?" whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. "You are the best in the year - I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!"  
Hermione smiled but made a "shushing" gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.  
"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room - oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Zabini and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. ... 

"And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."  
"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan , pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.  
"Oho," said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling, to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"  
"It's liquid luck," said Hermione excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"  
The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Harry could see of Malfoy raising an eyebrow in interest.  
"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed ... at least until the effects wear off."  
"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" said Terry Boot eagerly.  
"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know. . . highly toxic in large quantities. But taken  
sparingly, and very occasionally . . ."  
"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.  
"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."  
He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.  
"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."  
There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.  
"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."  
"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions . . . sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only . . . and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"  
"So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"  
There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Harry saw Malfoy rifling through his copy of Advanced Potion Making he seemed eager, but his eyes were distant as though he didn’t really care about the prize.  
To his annoyance, he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) Harry hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what he needed. As he dashed back to his cauldron, he saw Malfoy cutting up Valerian roots smoothly and effortlessly and somehow making the segments the same size.  
Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the "smooth, black currant-colored liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage. Malfoy wasn’t far behind, although his was a slightly different shade than Hermione’s. Harry blinked and looked back at Malfoy’s cauldron. The slytherin was adding gargoyle tears. Something that definitely wasn’t on the ingredients. Harry felt a wave of gleeful euphoria at the thought that his rival was going to fail spectacularly.  
Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean and had written in the alternative instruction:  
Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.  
Harry glanced at the room. Slughorn was frowning at Malfoy’s potion which had turned a rather brilliant shade of silver. Malfoy said something quietly, as he dusted the contents in a purple powder. Slughorn shook his head in bemusement and walked away. Looking back down, Harry smirked. It looked as though Malfoy had been taken out of the running to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.  
The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up. Harry turned to Hermione.  
"Can I borrow your silver knife?"  
She nodded impatiently, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.  
Harry crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger. To his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shriveled bean could have held it all.  
Hastily scooping it all into the cauldron he saw, to his surprise, that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook.  
His annoyance with the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted at the next line of instructions. According to the book, he had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. According to the addition the previous owner made, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir. Could the old owner be right twice?  
Harry stirred counterclockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned pale pink.  
"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione, who was red faced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.  
"Add a clockwise stir -"  
"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!" she snapped.  
Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing. Seven stirs counterclockwise, one clockwise, pause . . . seven stirs counterclockwise, one stir clockwise . . .  
Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon.  
"And time's . . . up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"  
Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tar like substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.  
"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are - one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"  
Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded. He frowned in Malfoy’s direction, whose face was mostly impassive but held a slight smirk. He glanced over to Malfoy’s potion. To his astonishment, it was molten gold and splashing about identically to the vial in his pocket. Malfoy sauntered over to them “Congratulations on the potion… Half-Blood Prince.” He smirked again before pushing past the two Gryffindors.  
"How did you do that?" he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.  
“Even Malfoy congratulated you.”  
"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry, because Malfoy was still within earshot.  
Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.  
"I s'pose you think I cheated?" he finished, aggravated by her expression.  
"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said stiffly.  
“I still did the work, just differently.”  
"Besides he only followed different instructions to ours," said Ron, "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off." He heaved a sigh. "Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but-"  
"Hang on," said a voice close by Harry's left ear and he caught a sudden waft of that flowery smell he had picked up in Slughorn's dungeon. He looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"  
She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.  
"It's nothing," he said reassuringly, lowering his voice. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled on."  
"But you're doing what it says?"  
"I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny -"  
"Ginny's got a point," said Hermione, perking up at once. "We ought to check that there's nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?"  
"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand. "Specialis Revelio!" she said, rapping it smartly on the front cover. Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared.  
"Finished?" said Harry irritably. "Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?"  
"It seems all right," said Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously. "I mean, it really does seem to be ... just a textbook."  
"Good. Then I'll have it back," said Harry, snatching it off the table, but it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor. Nobody else was looking. Harry bent low to retrieve the book, and as he did so, he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside a pair of socks in his trunk upstairs.  
This book is the property of the Half Blood Prince.  
Malfoy knew about the book. Why else would he have called him that? Harry’s head spun in confusion. Somehow Malfoy knew who had wrote in the book and he knew from a single glance down at the dog-eared pages. Something was up.

For or the rest of the week's Potions lessons Harry continued to follow the Half-Blood Prince's instructions wherever they deviated from Libatius Borage's, with the result that by their fourth lesson Slughorn was raving about Harry's abilities, saying that he had rarely taught anyone so talented. Neither Ron or Hermione was delighted by this. Although Harry had offered to share his book with both of them, Ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than Harry did, and could not keep asking Harry to read aloud or it might look suspicious. Hermione, meanwhile, was resolutely plowing on with what she called the "official" instructions, but becoming increasingly bad-tempered as they yielded poorer results than the Prince's.  
He didn’t mention to Hermione and Ron that Malfoy seemed to know exactly what was going on and was constantly giving him knowing looks in Potions. All of Malfoy’s potions turned out better than Harry’s but Slughorn never commented on it. Well, they were better when he actually did the assignment. It had not passed Harry’s noticed that the majority of the time Mafoy was working on his own potions instead of what Slughorn assigned.  
Harry wondered vaguely who the Half-Blood Prince had been and briefly considered asking the Slytherin. Talking to Malfoy was quickly scrapped. There was no way he was going to be caught dead being civil to that snake.  
Although the amount of homework they had been given prevented Harry from reading the whole of his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, he had skimmed through it sufficiently to see that there was barely a page on which the Prince had not made additional notes, not all of them concerned with potion-making. Here and there were directions for what looked like spells that the Prince had made up himself.  
"Or herself," said Hermione irritably, overhearing Harry pointing some of these out to Ron in the common room on Saturday evening. "It might have been a girl. I think the handwriting looks more like a girl than a boy's."  
"The Half-Blood Prince, he was called," Harry said. "How many girls have been Princes?"  
Hermione seemed to have no answer to this. She merely scowled and twitched her essay on The Principles of Rematerialization away from Ron, who was trying to read it upside down. Ron looked up.  
“Half Blood Prince? Isn’t that what Malfoy called you when you won the luck potion?”  
Hermione looked up sharply.  
“You didn’t mention that before.”  
“It doesn’t matter.” said Harry, annoyed at Hermione’s attitude.  
Harry looked at his watch and hurriedly put the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making back into his bag.  
"It's five to eight, I'd better go, I'll be late for Dumbledore."  
"Don’t think we won’t talk about this when you get back” Hermione said sharply, turning back to her essay.  
"Hope it goes okay," said Ron, and the pair of them watched Harry leave through the portrait hole.  
Harry proceeded through deserted corridors, though he had to step hastily behind a statue when Professor Trelawney appeared around a corner, muttering to herself as she shuffled a pack of dirty-looking playing cards, reading them as she walked.  
"The signs show the blessing of death," she murmured, as she passed the place where Harry crouched, hidden. “The son of wisdom with the blessing of death, the son of spring and the dual blessings of the trickster. They will protect the purity of magic...”  
She stopped dead, right on the other side of Harry's statue.  
"They will protect world from the loss of the chosen. That poor Potter boy," she said, sadly, and Harry heard her reshuffling vigorously as she set off again, leaving nothing but a whiff of cooking sherry behind her. Harry waited until he was quite sure she had gone, then hurried off again until he reached the spot in the seventh-floor corridor where a single gargoyle stood against the wall.  
"Acid Pops," said Harry, and the gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which Harry stepped, so that he was carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's Office.  
Harry knocked.  
"Come in," said Dumbledore s voice.  
"Good evening, sir," said Harry, walking into the headmaster's office.  
"Ah, good evening, Harry. Sit down," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I hope you've had an enjoyable first week back at school?" "Yes, thanks, sir," said Harry.  
“I would like to introduce you to some of my friends. Silverfur, Honeytooth, Claw, and Fang.”  
“Who.” Harry blinked.  
“They are not here yet, they will arrive shortly. I assume you have had encounters with them before, you will know them when you see them.”  
“Alright.”said Harry, still slightly confused.  
"You must have been busy, a detention under your belt already!" "Er," began Harry awkwardly, but Dumbledore did not look too stern.  
"I have arranged with Professor Snape that you will do your detention next Saturday instead."  
"Right," said Harry, who had more pressing matters on his mind than Snape's detention, and now looked around surreptitiously for some indication of what Dumbledore was planning to do with him this evening. The circular office looked just as it always did; the delicate silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, puffing smoke and whirring; portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, Fawkes, stood on his perch behind the door, watching Harry with bright interest. It did not even look as though Dumbledore had cleared a space for dueling practice.  
"So, Harry," said Dumbledore, in a businesslike voice. "You have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these — for want of a better word — lessons?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"Well, I have decided that it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, for you to be given certain information." There was a pause.  
"You said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell me everything," said Harry. It was hard to keep a note of accusation from his voice. "Sir," he added.  
"And so I did," said Dumbledore placidly. "I told you everything I know. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."  
"But you think you're right?" said Harry.  
"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being — forgive me — rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."  
"Sir," said Harry tentatively, "does what you're going to tell me have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help me . . . survive?"  
"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy," said Dumbledore, as casually as if Harry had asked him about the next days weather, "and I certainly hope that it will help you to survive,."  
Harry abruptly remembered something. “Professor, I heard Trelawny talking earlier. She mentioned me and the blessings of death and tricksters and something about the essence of magic.”  
Dumbledore’s eyes flashed. “Nevermind that for now Harry. It will be dealt with in time.” Harry was irritated at the brush off. That seemed like a rather important thing to talk about.  
Dumbledore got to his feet and walked around the desk, past Harry, who turned eagerly in his seat to watch Dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a familiar shallow stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. He placed the Pensieve on the desk in front of Harry.  
"You look worried."  
Harry had indeed been eyeing the Pensieve with some apprehension. His previous experiences with the odd device that stored and revealed thoughts and memories, though highly instructive, had also been uncomfortable. The last time he had disturbed its contents, he had seen much more than he would have wished. But Dumbledore was smiling.  
"This time, you enter the Pensieve with me . . . and, even more unusually, with permission."  
"Where are we going, sir?"  
“Nowhere yet. My friends have arrived.” Dumbledore turned to face the entrance expectantly. There was a shuffling noise before a familiar white wolf emerged. It eyed Harry with intelligent grey eyes before moving to sit by Fawkes. He had known the wolf since first year when he followed Harry and his friends through the third floor to confront Voldemort. He was surprised to see that Dumbledore knew him, usually he would hide from professors. The only one he was okay with had been Lupin. Next two twin tigers entered, also familiar from their meeting at the Ministry of Magic last year. Their identical green eyes glinted mischievously. Finally a large grizzly bear lumbered in and plopped unceremoniously to the floor and rubbed it’s golden eyes. Harry had not seen him yet and was slightly unnerved at his arrival, he didn’t really like bears.  
“Ah” Dumbledore exclaimed, “Glad you could make it. You all know Harry,” They all turned their heads to the gryffindor who stiffened as their gazes turned on him.  
“Good.”Dumbledore said,  
“Harry, they have decided to protect you this year. Silverfur is the leader.” he motioned to the white wolf before continuing, “Claw and Fang are the spies and brute force most of the time and Honeytooth is the backup and healer for the group. They are magical and can sense when you are in danger, but listen closely.” He leaned slightly in and lowered his voice “There are dark things hunting for your blood this year Harry. Keep that in mind and never go anywhere alone.”  
Harry’s heart stopped. That was almost word for word what Malfoy had said on the train, but before he could question the headmaster, Dumbledore turned and changed the subject.  
“Never speak of this Harry, not even to those you trust most. You never know who is listening. hey will protect you but now they have business to attend to.”  
The animals silently, or loudly in Honeytooth’s case, left the room leaving him alone with Dumbledore.  
“Now Harry we will be using this Pensive for a trip down Bob Ogden's memory lane," said Dumbledore, pulling from his pocket a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance.  
"Who was Bob Ogden?"  
"He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Dumbledore. "He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. If you will stand, Harry ..." The lesson continued with a trip through Bob Ogden’s memories which included the interesting story of Mr. Gaunt and the origin of Tom Riddle.


End file.
